


(no) hard feelings

by raregoose



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Growing Up Together, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregoose/pseuds/raregoose
Summary: Where there's Jacob, there's Mark.Two kids meet on a basketball court in 2013 and then the passage of time messes everything up.





	(no) hard feelings

**Author's Note:**

> The world needs more Troubs/Scheif and I decided to be the change I wanted to see in the world. The title comes partly from Lorde's song Hard Feelings / Loveless and partly from this (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYuvIjh9f_I) Blake Wheeler interview where he states that he knows there are no hard feelings after Jacob signed a very late deal to stay on the Winnipeg Jets after requesting a trade in the offseason. This whole piece is largely inspired by Lorde's album Melodrama, both in an overall thematic sense and in some specific moments. There are bits in the fic that are direct references to certain songs off the record so if you're a Lorde fan you may notice them! This fic is also a companion to a Nikolaj/Patrik fic that was actually conceptualized and begun longgg before this one, but no background is needed to read this (obviously, considering I'm not done with the N/P fic haha). I didn't feel the need to tag N/P because you kind of have to squint to notice it here, especially because all of their moments are seen through Mark's eyes as comparison to a young Jacob/Mark.
> 
> As a disclaimer: this is a piece of fiction that does not represent anything I believe or wish to be true. It is all entirely made up in my brain as an exercise of creative writing! Thanks for reading!

People always told Mark that he shouldn’t always see life as if it were hockey, but he couldn’t help himself.

He followed Jacob on Twitter the day he was drafted by the Jets. He was Mark’s teammate now, no matter that they’d never met each other, and teammates had to be there for each other. Along the same line of reasoning, Mark unfollowed Jacob on Twitter during camp for the 2013 World Juniors. Jacob was no longer a faceless teammate, but instead a faceless opponent. 

He begrudgingly refollowed after the tournament was over, although he was still feeling the sting of not medaling while his faceless once-time opponent, current sort-of teammate (though neither of them were actually playing for the Jets or the Moose), brought home gold. He was also feeling the residual sting of being sent back down to juniors for a second year in a row after being the 7th overall pick in his draft. It was hard to ignore the online whispers, _bust bust bust_ , that seemed to follow him everywhere like a dark cloud.

Mark played to spite them; Mark played despite them. He had a chip on his shoulder, and it drove him to get better every day. He was determined to make the team as fast as he could.

They met eventually, in the summer, playing basketball, of all things. “Mark, right?” Jacob asked, and there he was. He looked young, hair long and face round. Mark puffed out his chest, even though he wasn’t even a full year older.

“Yeah,” he said. “And you’re Jacob.” Which wasn’t quite a statement but also wasn’t a question. They both knew that Mark knew who Jacob was. Mark’s Twitter reputation preceded him.

“Yep,” was all that Jacob replied, and that was that. 

The basketball court was (for some reason) enclosed in a cage and the summer sun was boiling in Toronto, and it was easy for the two to befriend each other. One moment, all they knew about each other were their jersey numbers and Twitter handles, and the next they were jawing at each other like they’d been teammates their whole lives. It was easy, back then, when the only thing on the horizon was hockey and that all-consuming goal of making the show.

*

Mark’s head told him to be understanding and patient, but his heart was a bad listener.

Mark knew the ins and outs of Jacob’s contract situation like the back of his hand. He understood Jacob’s perspective, could understand the delicacies of the matter, at least cerebrally. The news didn’t come out until after they were eliminated from the World Cup, but Mark wasn’t surprised. There had been noise about it all summer; Jacob had avoided his gaze in the locker room. Mark understood it as a negotiation tactic. That’s what you do in hockey. Jacob talked around the subject of signing in circles when asked during the World Cup, and Mark understood. It was just the way hockey players talk about everything.

Jacob said a million things to reporters and the boys without saying anything at all and Mark’s brain understood, but his heart always had a bit of a rebellious streak. Mark’s heart was not the understanding type.

He and Jacob hadn’t talked much since April anyway. Which was, whatever, Mark supposed, it’s not like he had any claim to him, especially not since their last phone call in May. Mark loved him in secret, body and mind, one secret from the world and the other from only Jacob. Which is a pretty long winded way of saying that they had stopped hooking up but Mark was still attached.

And now he understood. Trade request, big offseason news. A future top pairing guy like Jacob could command a lot in a deal. He wanted out, he wanted onto his natural side and top minutes and out of Canada and the tad bit depressing Winnipeg. Mark’s brain understood that.

Jacob didn’t text him when he was lonely and hadn’t knocked on Mark’s hotel door in Toronto the way he used to on road trips. Mark stopped waiting up for him. Mark went to training camp and Jacob didn’t.

He wasn’t letting go, but camp did allow him to loosen up. Blake had his C and Mark and Buff matched with their As. Patrik showed up and it was like he’d always been there. He was funny and a little strange and when he got the puck it’d be in the net before Mark saw it make contact with Patrik’s tape.

He and Nikolaj became fast friends, heads bent together in the locker room and on the ice, giggling and chirping and reminding Mark of when he and Jacob were them, the young guns with heads full of air and nowhere to be except with each other.

Mark dialed into the season with Jacob gone. It felt freeing, in a way, to not constantly be looking over his shoulder for him, to not feel like Jacob was playing catch-up to him in a game of emotions. Mark’s heart was cruel. It poisoned Mark’s brain, usually so analytical and reasonable, fed it lies about how Jacob never loved him, never loved him the way he loved Jacob.

Mark was playing the best hockey of his career and Jacob wasn’t there. Jacob was training in Michigan according to the most recent rumors, the rumors Jacob had always told him not to listen to, the rumors he found himself listening to now that he didn’t dare open the thread of texts with Jacob on his phone, where the last text was “I’m outside”. The team was starting the season well, although no one was getting their hopes up.

Blake was keeping a close eye on him, he was sure of it, but he pretended not to notice. All he had was the one thing in his life his heart and his head agreed unanimously on: play some damn good hockey.

*

Someone once told Mark not to make everything about himself, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

Mark watched Nikolaj and Patrik, attached at the elbow, leave practice together, whispering and most likely planning on playing Playstation for a few hours and getting takeout, and he couldn’t help but think about 2013.

Jacob and Mark were rookies, young guns, running around Winnipeg like they owned the place, with disposable income and no responsibilities. They spent their mornings at the rink, their afternoons at the mall, their evenings watching _High School Musical_ sing-along marathons, and their nights drinking way too much.

It was a Tuesday night in December, because the concept of weekends didn’t exist as hockey players, just game nights and off nights, and Mark and Jacob were drinking on Bogo’s couch. Mark was somewhere in the area of brutal-honesty-drunk and oversharing-drunk when he leaned deep into Jacob’s chest and said, “I’m pretty sure I don’t like girls, Troubs.” He was _really_ drunk, but even then he could feel Jacob tense underneath him.

“Yeah?” was all he said. Mark felt his voice vibrating against his back and just nodded.

“Guys?” Mark turned back to look at Jacob. He kept nodding. Jacob looked at Mark for a long moment. “I need some water,” Jacob said suddenly, pushing Mark off him and walking back to the kitchen.

He looked at his hands and listened to the tap run behind him. It was the only sound in the entire house, and there was a quiet moment when it turned off. Mark set his jaw for whatever was about to come next. He wasn’t half as drunk as he would’ve liked, he realized, because this probably would seem a lot funnier if he was.

“Scheif?” Mark looked up to find Jacob standing in front of him, looking down at him with a question in his voice. He just waited, not saying a thing. “Can I kiss you?”

So maybe Mark was drunker than he thought, because not in a million years would sober Mark be brave enough to rock up, grab the hem of Jacob’s shirt, and pull him down on top of him to kiss him, legs uncomfortably situated but lips interlocked.

From there it was just like anything else. They were 19 and 20 and they were unbreakable, unstoppable. When they saw _Frozen_ for the third time they sat in the back row of the theatre and laughed and kissed through the whole movie.

*

Mark’s brother liked to remind him that there was more to life than hockey, but Mark wasn’t always convinced.

The boys were struggling, despite having no issue scoring goals. Mark was scoring, Nikolaj was scoring, Patrik was scoring in ways no one expected, but still they were missing something. The defense wasn’t connecting, and there were some goals that Bucky probably wasn’t happy about letting in.

There was a picture floating around on the internet of someone who had taken duct tape to their Trouba jersey and made it read “TROUBITCH”. It was tense, to say the least.

Chevy was holding out for Jacob, but Mark was tired of waiting. He had spent three years always waiting for Jacob, always hanging on to him and his every word.

There had always been rumors about Bogo, but Mark only started to notice them in the spring of his first year, at the beginning of 2014. They started to float into Mark’s orbit because they started to mention Jacob, and at that point Jacob was basically Mark’s entire orbit.

They were in the mall, just ambling around and people watching, when Mark happened upon some link on Twitter, which led to some other link, which led him to another link, and eventually Mark was reading about how Jacob and Bogo were apparently doing a lot of cocaine together in their free time.

Jacob turned around to show Mark two watches that no 19 year old should have had any business being able to afford.

“Which one? Scheifs?” Jacob put the watches down when Mark didn’t respond, too engrossed by his phone. “What’s so interesting?” Mark looked up.

“Dude, are you and Bogo, like…?” He didn’t have the words.

“Living together? Playing hockey together? Spit it out!” Jacob laughed, catching Mark’s wrist and running his cool fingers along the hot soft skin inside, not expecting what was coming.

“No! Like, doing _cocaine_ ,” Mark finished, voice dropping low on “cocaine”. 

Jacob’s face went ashen and he dropped Mark’s wrist, only to snatch his phone.

“Scheifs, what the fuck, man? No way.” He closed the window on Mark’s phone and passed it back to him. “I don’t want you to listen to any stupid rumors from attention seeking idiots on Twitter. Okay?” Jacob held his gaze and Mark just nodded, mouth open.

“Cool,” Jacob said before slinging an arm around Mark’s shoulders and spinning him towards the counter where the watches were, switching immediately back to his normal self. “Now, about these watches…”

*

Blake made sure to check in with everyone so he knew there’d be no hard feelings, but Mark was becoming a damn good liar.

Jacob agreed to a two year deal on the 7th of November and was back on the ice in Winnipeg on the 8th. Blake was all over his captainly duties, checking in with the boys and dutifully speaking with the media. 

Blake’s sit-down with Mark went a little like this:

Blake didn’t say anything at first. He watched Mark, because that’s what he did, always paying attention to Mark with a careful eye and a guiding hand. But Mark didn’t take the bait. He stared back, challenging Blake to say what he thought, what he probably knew about Mark and Jacob.

“I know you’ve already heard the news,” was all he said. “You know everything first.” Which was true. Mark followed league news better than anyone. Mark had even gotten a damn notification when Jacob signed, just a little blip on his screen like Jacob signing was any random signing.

“Yeah, I saw it.” Mark looked at Blake’s chin because he always thought Blake’s eyes had a sadness about them.

“Okay.” Blake paused and breathed. Mark admired the way Blake always made sure to choose his words with great care. “I just want to make sure, barring anything that ever happened between the two of you, that there are no hard feelings.” 

“Hard feelings? No, of course not,” Mark lied. He smiled, because he could fake with his mouth what he couldn’t with his eyes.

“Great,” Blake said, standing and giving Mark a half-handshake half-hug. “I’m really excited for you two to be back together.” Mark nodded.

Blake was the first to welcome Jacob back at practice the next day, the first to hug him, the first to introduce him to Patrik. Mark stood back and watched as Jacob made his way around the room, hugging everyone, getting comfortable. He couldn’t make sense of the feelings swirling in his chest, from anger and resentment to the comforting sense of home and happiness that were like a instinctual response whenever Mark saw him. He came to Mark last.

“Hey man,” Jacob said, reaching out a hand, the shape of his mouth a neutral but tentative half-smile. “Long time no see, eh?” Mark hugged him so Jacob wouldn’t see the twist of his lips.

“I’ve missed you.” Mark kept hugging him through his reply because he didn’t want to see Jacob’s reaction.

So, no hard feelings from the team, except for the continued angry and confused ache in Mark’s heart that was doing its best to extend its influence over Mark’s sense of reason. Jacob was always like this for Mark: invading his mind and taking over, emptying his mind of anything but those blue eyes and whatever stupid haircut he was sporting at the time.

*

Mark had reason to believe that his heart was too soft for the life he’d chosen for his body.

They were eliminated from playoff contention unceremoniously in the last week of March in 2016. Mark sat at home and tried to remember the feeling of playing in the playoffs the previous year, the roar of the crowd all in white despite the outcome of the series, the chants that lasted throughout the handshake line and echoed for hours in Mark’s brain, loud enough that you’d think the sweep had been the other way around. 

After the sweep, Mark cried in his stall and everyone pretended not to notice. Now Mark just sat in his living room poring over tape, reading an email from Adam, knowing that he had to be faster and stronger and that he had to be a leader. He couldn’t be the kid in his second year who cried in his stall anymore.

It was April and the season was winding down, though Mark’s heart wasn’t really in it anymore. His weak heart, that crawled out of his chest and chained him here, chained him to Winnipeg and its fans all in white, chained him to Buff and Blake and most of all Jacob, Jacob who Mark’s heart didn’t want to believe didn’t love him back, Jacob who Mark had feebly called earlier and asked to pick him up. Just to go for a drive. Just to get his mind off the season.

Mark’s phone dinged.

_I’m outside_

It was from Jacob. Mark shoved his feet unceremoniously in a pair of moccasins and climbed into Jacob’s passenger seat. Jacob’s car had been deflowered and defiled over the years, especially when Jacob still lived with Bogo and they wouldn’t dare try anything while he was home, but clearly Jacob had just gotten it cleaned because the black leather shined and Mark’s footprints weren’t on the dash; Mark’s hoodie wasn’t on the backseat.

It was April and Winnipeg was starting to defrost from its long winter, but Jacob’s car was cold and the music was too loud. Jacob stared at the steering wheel. His knuckles were white.

A moment passed. Over the radio, Justin Bieber asked if it was too late to say sorry. Then they both spoke at the same time.

Jacob said: “We have to stop doing this.”

Mark said: “I’m in love with you.”

It was 2016 and Mark wasn’t the kid who cried in his stall anymore. His heart was weak but his mind was getting stronger every day. He didn’t cry in Jacob’s car. He didn’t beg Jacob to still be his whatever they were. He didn’t scream or fight, at least not yet.

He got out of Jacob’s car and went inside. The season ended and they didn’t speak much in the locker room, and everyone pretended not to notice.

Jacob’s first practice back in November, the cold setting in again in Winnipeg, they still didn’t speak much. Nikolaj whispered stories and gossip to Patrik and Mark pretended not to notice. Mark was kind to Jacob, but there was a wall between them. Mark told himself Jacob had built that wall in April, but the truth was that he had only provided the bricks, and Mark had done the rest.

*

Mark was trying to be better.

In May, when he posted on Instagram about going to the World Cup with Jacob, not knowing what he was thinking, missing what they were, missing Jacob blowing up his phone with stupid photos or videos of his dog, Jacob called him.

In November, after Jacob’s first game back (in which Patrik scored his second career hat trick, casually), when the team went to a bar, Mark put down his phone and picked up a beer, Jacob next to him, stools far enough apart that they weren’t touching but close enough that Mark could feel the heat of his arm against his own. Mark thought about Nikolaj and Patrik, still attached at the elbow, now attached at the hips on the dancefloor, and thought about when he and Jacob were them, dancing drunkenly in bars and kissing in the bathrooms, Mark pulling Jacob by the belt loops and convincing him to stay, for just one more song.

In May, Jacob said, “I’ve missed you.” His voice was crackly over the phone. Mark’s head, always the reasonable one, wanted to say “me too”, but his heart, how cruel his heart could be.

“That’s your own fault,” Mark said. Jacob paused over the line.

In November, Jacob turned to Mark at the bar and paused over his drink. His skin and his hair looked grey in the low light but his eyes were still so blue. “I did everything in the wrong order,” he said. There was no cruel urge in Mark’s heart to shoot back, “that’s your own fault,” even though it was probably true.

“How would you do it, if you could do it over again?”

“Look, I called to apologize for breaking things off the way I did, but if you’re gonna be like this, maybe I won’t,” May Jacob said.

“I never would’ve broken things off the way I did,” November Jacob said. “I would’ve told you about the trade thing first.”

May Mark scoffed over the line. “You dumped me in your car right after we got knocked out of the playoffs. I don’t want to hear any apology.”

November Mark chewed on his lower lip. “You tried to apologize. I just didn’t want to hear it.” He looked over his shoulder. Nikolaj’s face was pressed to Patrik’s chest. They were singing along to the ABBA song that had come on, the one that went _honey I’m still free, take a chance on me_. “If you had told me about wanting a trade, would you still want to stop being, uh, whatever we were? And now you’re signed, so what does that even mean? Did you just sign so that you could play the season? Is this gonna happen all over again in two years?” The words tumbled out of him, too fast, mixed up. Mark looked at his hands, the bar, Jacob’s forearm.

“You’re always like this, you know?” May Jacob shot back. “You’re so… so _intense_ about everything! You can’t ever just let things happen. Everything has to make sense to you, and if it doesn’t you just give up on it! Fucking _listen_ for once, Scheifs, Jesus, there’s more to this than just you, okay, it’s not all about you-”

“Then explain it, if there’s more to it!” May Mark interrupted, seething. “If I need to learn to listen then you need to learn to talk, because it’s been like this for years. You never say what you’re thinking, or how you’re feeling, like everything is some big _fucking_ secret, for three years!”

“I don’t know,” November Jacob admitted. “Things didn’t work out the way my agent thought they would. There was more to what happened then what I wanted, the ice time, and now nothing makes sense. I wish I could explain it all to you, how I feel about you, and the team, and-”

“Then try, please, Jacob,” November Mark interrupted. He reached out and grabbed Jacob’s wrist, his fingers warm against Jacob’s cold skin.

“You know what I think? I think it was a fucking mistake to call you, man. See you in September.” May Jacob hung up the phone, leaving Mark with only the long tone and a thousand words stuck in his throat that would’ve ultimately meant nothing.

“I think we should get out of here. See you at my house in five?” November Jacob said, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

*

Jacob always told Mark that he was impossible to say no to, and Mark had no qualms with exploiting that.

2015 was a year like no other. Bogo was traded, but they made the playoffs, and Mark was drinking up every moment. Crowds of people lined the streets in Winnipeg when they landed coming home from Anaheim, a tunnel of cheers guiding them home through the barely-morning dark. Things with Jacob were easy then, hands slipping into hands or under t-shirts without thinking about what it meant, giggling in the mall and spending the summer going to every airing of _Pitch Perfect 2_ that they could catch, deciding that they _totally_ should be in the third one.

It was training camp and Mark was lying flat on his back on Jacob’s bed after a hard morning. Mark’s shorts and boxers were on the floor and Jacob was working a hand around Mark’s cock. Jacob was naked and he rut against Mark’s thighs and stroked Mark in time, breathing against Mark’s neck. Mark had one hand twisted in the sheets and his other in Jacob’s hair, which had gotten obscenely long over the summer.

“Jacob,” Mark breathed, all he could get out as Jacob mouthed down his neck and swiped his thumb across the head of Mark’s cock. Jacob stopped at Mark’s collarbone and hummed against his skin, something Mark had come to know meant “again”.

“Jacob,” Mark repeated, still out of breath, tightening his grip in Jacob’s hair. Jacob groaned and picked up his pace, moving his hand faster until Mark felt his entire core tensing, from his abs to his thighs.

“Ah, Jacob, Jacob.” Mark’s eyes fluttered shut and he thrusted hard into Jacob’s hand twice before coming. His limbs felt heavy; he sank deep into the bed and sighed.

Jacob wiped his hand across Mark’s stomach. “Hey!” Mark laughed. Jacob cocked his head coyly.

“Can I jack off onto you?” he asked, ever blunt with his desires. Mark just nodded, words caught in his throat. The sun streaming in through the window warmed Mark’s body as Jacob straddled his thighs and lazily stroked himself. Mark’s heart tugged at Jacob’s smile and the easy way he ran his hand across Mark’s hipbone across the low plane of his stomach below his belly button. It was a perfect moment, and Mark wished every moment could be like this: Jacob watching him easily, sweating on bedsheets and laughing with him and touching every inch of his body.

Mark’s stomach swooped up. “C’mon, baby,” he said, brushing Jacob’s thigh, and that was all Jacob needed. He flopped forward onto Mark, their stomachs sticking together, and they both laughed.

“Hey, hey, get off!” Mark yelped, pushing at Jacob’s shoulder but still laughing. “I’ve gotta shower!” Jacob just groaned in protest, pushing his face into the crook of Mark’s neck. He blew a raspberry and Mark shouted in surprise.

“Okay, no more!” Mark said, rolling Jacob off him and scooting to the edge of the bed to look for his discarded clothes on the floor.

Mark picked up his gym shorts and asked, “Troubs? Where are my boxers?”

As Jacob cocked his head in confusion, Mark heard an pattering sound of tiny feet trotting across hardwood floors toward the bedroom. He turned his head to see Jacob’s new dog holding none other than the missing boxers.

“Donnie!” Mark yelled, hopping off the bed and chasing after the little dog.

Such were the carefree mornings of 2015 when they were certain a repeat of the previous season was on hand, Jacob’s house full of natural light and Mark, naked from the waist down and stomach covered in jizz, chasing after Donnie chewing a pair of boxers.

Mark recovered the boxers and returned to the bedroom with them and his “I just scored in the shootout” smile plastered across his face. Jacob was lying naked on his bed languidly, hair splayed around his head like a halo, laughing at the tooth shaped holes in the boxers.

Jacob’s sheets were white and the room was bathed in yellow light. Jacob, Mark, and Donnie all sunned themselves on the bed and just let the time pass them by.

Jacob’s house was dark when they pulled up in November 2016. Donnie was there to greet Mark like always.

“Hey bud!” Mark said, crouching and giving him a scratch between his ears. He walked behind them as they made their way through the empty and mostly unused kitchen to the living room. The couches were cool to the touch and the room was mostly dark in the wee hours of the morning, but something about it felt welcoming, like Mark was safe in this hidey-hole on the edge of Winnipeg.

Jacob only turned a single light on and they talked until the sun came up and they didn't need the lamp to see.

*

Mark's father was a kind man, and Mark could only hope that it ran in the family.

It was pretty Pavlovian, Mark thought, to be sitting in his hotel room after dinner not sleeping, but instead flicking absentmindedly through channels and waiting for the sound of Jacob knocking. 

It was 2016 and the team wasn’t great. Jacob wasn’t playing many minutes, and Mark was playing well but not good enough. Not good enough to make the playoffs, despite their shiny new rookie Nikolaj, despite making it the previous year. It was late in the winter and Mark would be lying if he hadn’t watched World Juniors and thought about Auston Matthews or Jesse Puljujarvi in a Jets uniform.

Maybe the hotel visits were stress relief. Jacob didn’t laugh much anymore. As they grew older, trips to the mall and wasting money on DVDs they didn’t need grew to be less frequent occurrences. Mark could tell there was something bothering Jacob, something bubbling under the surface that he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) talk about.

There was a knock at the door. Mark didn’t respond; Jacob would know that it was open.

The door opened and Jacob walked in. He climbed unceremoniously onto the bed next to Mark and laid his head on Mark’ shoulder. Everything about him just seemed heavy. Mark wasn’t a big believer in auras or any of that type of stuff, but if they existed, Jacob’s was most definitely grey.

Mark looped an arm around Jacob and pulled him closer, leaning down to kiss him. Jacob surged into him and kissed him hard and fast, like he had something to prove, or something to lose. 

In retrospect, Mark should’ve seen the trade request coming, with Jacob so clearly miserable through the end of that last season. 

But Jacob was stuck in Mark’s head, and when Jacob was getting into Mark’s hotel room and his pants late at night, they didn’t talk much. They were silent when Jacob pressed bruises into the shelves of Mark’s hip bones with his thumbs and sucked dark red marks onto Mark’s neck, for fear of Blake or Buff in the adjacent rooms overhearing. 

Mark had his arms around Jacob’s broad torso and his hands were hot but they cooled to the touch of Jacob’s back. Jacob looked at Mark’s lips instead of his eyes, but Mark was in love with him. He knew from the core of his body beneath his ribs to the tips of his fingernails that were too long and digging into Jacob’s shoulder blades that he loved him, mind and body.

Mark thought about saying something at one point, but Jacob sucked all the air out of his lungs with whatever he was doing with his tongue south of the border. It’s not like it would’ve made much of a difference, anyway.

2016 winter melted into the spring and summer and everyone in the hockey world knew what happened next. Jacob and Mark went to the World Cup. Mark went to training camp and Jacob went to Michigan. Mark signed a hefty contract extension tying him to Winnipeg for eight years and Jacob signed a trade request.

2016 fall slid sideways into winter and the Jets slid in the standings. Mark was frustrated with the losses, but was heartened by the gradual increase in ease in being around Jacob again. November turned into December and they were laughing together cautiously, thinking of their long night of talking after Jacob’s first game back, how Jacob had explained the contract situation and they had decided to just wait and see on their relationship. 

Mark was still in love with him but when Jacob invited him over for a _High School Musical_ marathon, he realized that he was okay with waiting and seeing. They had a season ahead of them and a roster that could take them anywhere. Chevy had waited for Jacob, and now it was Mark’s turn.

December turned into the holiday season (as it is wont to do), and one day after practice as the holiday break loomed, Jacob slid into the stall next to Mark’s.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Mark was taping his stick. Jacob’s fingers were curled around the ledge of the stall. Jacob was grinning and watching him; Mark couldn’t help but do the same. Something about Jacob’s off-kilter baseball cap reminded him of that first day they became friends as teenagers on a basketball court in Toronto. “What’s up?”

Jacob tapped his feet excitedly against the floor. “You’re doing that Nutcracker thing, right? With the ballet?”

“Yeah,” Mark said through a half-laugh, not sure where Jacob was going.

“Well…” Jacob said, stretching it out, “aren’t you allowed to bring a friend, or something?” He raised his eyebrows and gestured to himself. Mark laughed.

“Jacob, do you want to be in the Nutcracker with me?” Mark had previously mentioned the performance to Adam, but whatever. Adam could always do it next year.

“Yes!” Jacob fist pumped. “You know,” he continued, suddenly serious. “I hear they’re casting _Pitch Perfect 3_ now, so this could be our moment.” 

Mark nodded and laughed and there was no ache in his chest anymore. His body felt warm and light and everything felt easy, even though that summer was long gone and he knew that there was hard work to come, on and off the ice, with the part of his life that was hockey and the parts of his life away from it.

Jacob high-fived him and his hands were warm too.

Mark thought of the boy he befriended in a basketball court in 2013 whose hair stuck out from underneath a baseball cap and was somehow equally as goofy as he was. It wasn’t 2013 anymore, and time had changed them both and spun them around on a roller coaster in every direction, but Mark finally thought that he could see straight, straight enough that he could see the coming horizon.

It was so bright, yet so clear.

**Author's Note:**

> An infinite amount of liberties were taken in the writing of this fic, but there are some moments based off things that did indeed really happen, and I'm going to document them here if you are curious!  
> -The Twitter / basketball events from the start of the fic did happen: https://www.nhl.com/jets/news/inflight-vol-ii-troubs-scheifs/c-689759  
> -Jacob did live with Zach Bogosian, and cocaine rumors about both of them are widespread.  
> -The "TROUBITCH" jersey exists: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Cv506oVVUAAgEUo.jpg  
> -The Winnipeg Whiteout and the "Go Jets Go!" chanting during the handshake line after the team was sweeped are both real, and the video might be one of the most moving things you'll see today: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAQ3Xhm_PPE  
> -Winnipeggers lining the streets when the team landed after the first 2 games of the Anaheim series is definitely real, I saw a video about it once, but I can't find it:(  
> -For those interested in Donnie pics: https://www.instagram.com/jacobtrouba/ (he's very cute)  
> -Jacob and Mark were in the Nutcracker together, and it was indeed originally just Mark going to perform: https://www.instagram.com/p/BOnH4sEgZ_q/?taken-by=rwballet  
> -Here's a video of it: https://www.nhl.com/jets/video/scheifele-trouba-in-nutcracker/t-277437442/c-48033503
> 
> Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr @ raregoose if you want to yell about the Jets boys!


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